


A Mirror behind a Mirror

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: (translation), F/M, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 12:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15558114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: Those who can pierce others’ mind should always be ready to face their own. Or: Eydis chooses Dyrwood.





	A Mirror behind a Mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Lustro za lustrem (toaletka)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13609914) by [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/pseuds/Filigranka). 



In the end, Eydis chooses Dyrwood. She runs away – with nothing but the robe she is wearing – runs to her house and scares the servants when she orders them to bar the door. She chooses Dyrwood – that is what she keeps telling herself when she is waiting for the end that does not come. And that is the truth; part of it. Can ciphers lie to themselves?

She runs way because she chooses Dyrwood. She runs away because she feels hurt, betrayed; because she finally understands she will never be more. That she will never be enough – not even close – that she will never mean anything, not in comparison to his cause. Not from his perspective – detached, cold, high as history itself. No matter who she becomes and what she does, she will be meaningless. Eydis tells herself that she chooses kith memory, that she chooses power, influence and greatness as are available to mortals. She admits to pride, even to arrogance – or at least to the lack of humility. And that is the truth – part of it.

Those who can pierce others’ mind should always be ready to face their own.

Eydis is sitting in front of the mirror, brushing her hair. Her parents are happy that she returned – to them, to her old self. They are ready to forgive those moments – years – of disobedience. They are tentatively starting to look for suitors, very pleased that she does not protest. On the contrary, she makes the effort – for her parents, for herself, out of guilt – or maybe the wish to forget. She picks jewellery, puts some rouge on her cheeks and henna on her eyebrows. Right now, she is brushing her beautiful, dark hair. Over a hundred passes of the brush already, and still she cannot decide on a proper hairstyle. Her maids are fluttering around, hesitant and worried.

Eydis should – wants to – make an impression on someone this evening. Find somebody who will help her chart the future of Dyrwood. The question is: who would she prefer. The latest Defiance Bay fashion favours elaborate buns and rolls – the higher, the better – adorned with flowers and ribbons. _He_ liked when she wore her hair down; when it was flowing over her shoulders and down her spine like a waterfall, when the waves coiled into slight curls after the rain. She knows who she reminded him of then, if only slightly. Ciphers can change what others see in a mirror – even the reflections they see themselves. But now Eydis looks straight at the surface and sees. Thinks. She does not have to say anything out loud.

She ran away because she could not stand being the other woman; not even that – just another woman, one of who knows how many. She ran away because she could not bear the knowledge that whenever he touched her, he imagined – saw, saw; he can change the reflections, too; no one can do it better than him – he imagined someone else. That there was more than just his cause behind his kisses – that there was also real, everyday passion; a mortal’s desire, strong enough to make him careless, strong enough to make him so very small – because it is petty, miserable; it is pathetic to want that distant resemblance in the shape and curves of her hair, it is beneath him – but that is how low love brings men. And yet it is not Eydis he longs for. That is unacceptable, intolerable; impossible. Not for Eydis, an heiress of a powerful family – a pretty, talented heiress; a lady courted by so many eligible bachelors and widowers. If ciphers cannot lie to themselves, then that is the truth. Part of it.

There is no reason to lament that, to wring her hands, tousle and tear out her hair. It is better to take that into her palms like a powder puff, a dagger, someone’s mind or heart. Blow on it softly, polish it; for luck. Use it prudently. There is nothing worse than a face covered in powder so thickly it crumbles like old plasterwork; a pointless death; an unnecessary breach of trust; a real-life melodrama.

Finally, after much deliberation, consulting both her maids and herself, Eydis decides on a compromise: hair naturally wavy, but pinned up high into a loose bun, with a few strands cascading down her back; and only a couple of trinkets. There will be someone whose eyes will light up at the sight – oh, there will be many, but only one who will understand.

Eydis will like to think that he has something in common with that other man: the line of his chin, the way he holds his head up, the tilt of his eyebrows; that he is, of course, more handsome, even if she has to admit he is, unfortunately, not as charismatic. He loves Eydis, loves his mother and loves Dyrwood – and nothing else. He is more comfortable, more... versatile; he is better suited for this. Oh, and of course Eydis respects, likes and loves him. And even if it is all a lie, ciphers can change the reflections, after all. And not only that.

“Lord Webb, a good choice,” her parents will say, content, even if they approved of lord D’Avigny only a while ago. “A perfect choice, dearest.”


End file.
